


Contention

by SkySamuelle



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkySamuelle/pseuds/SkySamuelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon did something that made Bonnie extremely mad at him. It's the aftermath of their first fight after becoming a couple, so he does something to reassure himself that she still wants to be with him… but since Damon is still Damon, he does it in his usual assholish, sex-fiendish way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contention

"A woman is dead, Damon and it's _your_ fault. You can't brush it off as if you just …emptied a bottle of wine on the carpet by accident. "

It's been a very long time since Damon has seen that gaze on his girlfriend's coppery green eyes. She is not wearing the kind of mild, trivial anger that makes her visage glow and their little spats fuel for sexual tension. The anger that spills in her voice and lights up her eyes is cold, harsh and laced with disgust.

Her arms are crossed before her chest and she has the most judgmental expression on and Damon could swear that, for the first time, he hates this witch as much he loves her.

Because nobody ever manages to make him feel as filthy as Bonnie Bennett does with a single silent glance, not even Saint Stefan with his endless lectures on right and wrong and history repeating itself all over again.

It makes him angry that she is still able to glare at him like that, as if she has not felt and enjoyed his hands all over her petite body, as if she has not entrusted him with her life more than once.

He wants to grab her and force her to remember that she is his now. His lover, his friend, his love. She doesn't have a right to glare through him like he is only dirt on her shoes.

He huffs, shaking his head with a sarcastic sneer on his dry lips."I'm getting tired of repeating this, sweetheart: I barely _sipped_ on her. Just like I did on countless others without any accidents. Her death was not in my plans. It was just… a fluke of luck."

"A fluke of luck?" she spits, even more enraged, spreading her arms wide. "Do you even understand what you've done?"

"I get it's not my _responsibility_."

Even while he says it, he knows it's not completely the truth. This death is a direct consequence of his actions, and if he had chosen any other woman in that bar to compel and feed on, there would be one less corpse in the town obituary and one less grieving family. It is not what he wanted, it's not what he planned for, but he didn't exactly take desperate measures to avoid it either. He could have struck two blood bags. He could have asked his 'victim' if she suffered from any blood-related ailment. But he had not, because it wasn't what he was used to in 160 years of utter loathing of the humankind and remorseless hunting.

And he can't admit this to Bonnie. Even if it probably would not worsen her current opinion of him. He does not know why, or better yet, he doesn't want to know.

He _can't_ be weak with her, some deep part of him just refuses to, and he doesn't need to articulate his reasons in order to follow his instincts at best he can.

"It is!" Bonnie reiterates, voice rising in evident frustration. " _You_ bither and now she is _gone_. Just because you couldn't give up the fucking thrill of feeding on living flesh."

He has spent hours trying to explain why fresh blood tastes so much better, why he could not just put it off his diet completely. He won't rise to the bait of trying again. He's tired of this screaming match, and he can see she feels the same, but is too damn stubborn to let it go.

"I could not have known she was anemic, Bonnie," he repeats slowly, and it's nothing he has not told her before and nothing that will sway her, but it is all he has and he won't pretend otherwise.

The witch steps closer, pressing her lips in a thigh line, and suddenly her features reflect none of the anger and all of the sadness, the disappointment. It's worse for Damon: they feel like a slap in the face.

"Does it even _matter_ to you?"

Something in him wants to grasp her shoulders, beg for forgiveness and promise that it won't happen ever again. It is silenced pretty fast by the something that won't allow her to hope for too much, to demand too much from him.

His visage remains stony, unmoved, but his mouth twitches in doubt, tripping over imaginary words.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, and I can't _undo_ it," he answers roughly, and yet his eyes stare deeper into hers, inviting her to read more than impatience in the shortening of his temper, to understand what he can't voice directly. He _is_ ashamed, despite himself and his experiences past and present.

"You can't," Bonnie acknowledges, looking nearly defeated, and he is surprised that it gives him no satisfaction.

The witch is giving up, and he hates it, hates knowing that she is taking his apparent lack of empathy as a personal failure. Her personal failure to make him see the weight of his carelessness with human lives.

If she was anyone else, he would laugh at her, throwing around sarcastic quips to prove that he is not blind to his flaws.

But with Bonnie he can only stand still and wait it out, take her judgment and swallow it down bitterly as he has always done in the past.

Silence stretches between them, and it's awkward and tense. She is looking at anywhere but where he is standing.

"It's late," she says, uneasy, after a furtive glance to the clock. "I should go."

The idea of her leaving now sparks a feeling of unwilling, begrudging anxiety inside the vampire. "It's 2.00 AM. You should sleep over here."

She has surely done so often enough in more pleasant circumstances, and although this relationship thing they have been trying is very recent, Damon feels that at night her place should always be in his bed for better or worse. It's stupid, but he has this sudden fear that if she leaves now, like this, she won't return to him.

"I don't think it's a very good idea," she hesitates, and it's so painfully evident that she wants to leave, get out of this house and far away from him that his hand is around her wrist, squeezing lightly, before either of them can blink.

"Stay," he insists, and he can at least be relieved that his tone is perfectly neutral.

"I'm tired of fighting," Bonnie warns, and it sounds more like an excuse than anything else.

"So don't."

She looks at him for a long, unreadable moment before nodding a sighed, "Okay."

Later, as they are lying down side by side among his sheets and she is wearing only panties and one of his button-up shirts, the witch feels as distant from him as if she was miles away. It irks him, it offends him; and worse yet it _hurts_ him and there's nothing he can do to talk himself out of those feelings.

He wonders what he is in her eyes now, a monster or a man, if she is wondering how long it will be before he does something that will force her to put him down definitively.

Mostly, he wonders if the next time he kisses her he will taste her loathing.

Almost in a gesture of rebellion, his arm encircles her waist, pulling her to his chest. She allows him, but stays unmoving and quiet.

Testing her further, Damon presses his nose to her neck, breathing her in. It's when she flinches that he feels a sinking weight in his gut in response, anger and grief warring with each other.

"Can you promise," she questions softly, "that it'll only be blood bags from today on?"

It would just take a yes to put her fears to rest, he supposes, but Damon still hesitates, a bitter aftertaste lingering in his mouth. He kisses her nape just to prove – both to him and to her- that he still can, taking his time before answering.

"Unless it's otherwise necessary," he concedes, and is pissed off that it gets him no reaction from his _girlfriend._

Fingers crawl over her thigh, slowly tracing its curves and ridges in retaliation, gently rubbing the soft and warm skin until his hand drifts in the space between her legs. Bonnie stays passive as he forces his way down a little, cupping her sex roughly. She gasps a little, a tiny, breathy surprised sound that makes him harden against her hip and nip at her shoulder.

He grounds the heel of his palm against her clit as he pushes her panties aside, somewhat gently despite his mood and ambivalent feelings toward her attitude.

"Damon…" she trails off in a bit too stern warning, and he hides his face in her hair, on the side of her neck, just so she will feel his smirk against her beautiful skin.

"What?" he provokes her, sounding as innocent as he has never truly been.

His hold around her waist tightens as he sinks two fingers inside her heat, slowly, groaning in satisfaction against her skin.

"You are an asshole," Bonnie gasps again, as he starts working her at a teasing pace. Soon she is slippery and wet, shuddering around his digits while he strokes the magical spot that never fails to make her eyes water in pleasure.

"Deep down, you like me this way," he purrs in her ear, nudging her legs further apart and growling in approval as she spreads herself even wider all by her whim. Feeling suddenly generous, he adds a third finger and pushes deeper and deeper until her breathing breaks in little labored huffs.

Damon arranges the pliant body against his so he can nestle his increasingly painful erection under the swell of her ass, enjoying the way her hips move to meet his hand because every movement of hers rubs her buttocks on his cock. It must be one of the most erotically-charged times of his long, debauched life, and the vampire finds himself closing his eyes to savor it. He loses himself for a bit in between the wanton sounds of her heavy panting and her racing heartbeat, the addictive friction created between her soft flesh and his dick. Damon kisses her cheek affectionately when she comes, her thighs clenching his hand and her lips moaning his name.

Eagerly, he rolls her over and watches her expression change as he abruptly pulls his fingers out of her pussy and puts them inside his mouth, licking them clean as her pupils widen and her body stiffens.

Despite how much he craves to be inside her, so deep that the little witch will never able to entirely cleanse herself of him, he takes his time to commit this image of her to memory.

Because Bonnie is always so beautiful in her afterglow that it makes him proud of giving her that release, and he can smell her arousal in the air, see it in every line of her open, fragile body.

He wants to bask in this, in her, and it's not a false sense of victory spurning him on but love. A primitive and greedy and selfish brand of it, but still love.

His eyes darken from blue to black while he leans over, freeing his aching erection from his boxers and sliding up Bonnie's frame without bothering to rid her of his shirt: he finds the thought of his clothing covering her upper body like a second skin as he fucks her both erotic and comforting. When he thrusts inside Bonnie's sweet warmth, she is smiling up at him. It's a tender smile that lasts only a few seconds before it is broken by a moan, but it unsettles him and brands itself in his mind. Later, he will able to see it even from behind closed eyelids, and he will realize that he has never felt so beloved.


End file.
